


Shades of Whumptober

by Amynion



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Hurt!Aramis, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amynion/pseuds/Amynion
Summary: A few prompt fills for Whumptober 2018.





	1. Stabbed

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to do one of these challenges, and the prompts for this were drawing me in. I was mad to even contemplate it though. I just don't have the time :( Still, I've got a couple done, and I've sketched outlines for a few others. I thought it was better to post than not. I make no promises on ever getting these finished (too many other WIPs on the go!).
> 
> We're in a modern AU for this first chapter. It's entirely the fault of this incredible video by Muse of Music set to Ólafur Arnalds "Only The Winds" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z54l-sXjZsQ 
> 
> I watched it and caught the feels. I highly recommend giving it a watch and catching the feels too. Of course I had to make things a bit more angsty. Enjoy!

It was getting dark. The world was cast in a half light where neither the sun nor moon held sway. Stray smoke drifted over the rooftops from dotted chimneys. It tainted the cold taste of the air. Aramis smiled as he took it in. He had found the perfect gift amongst the rows of rings on display. The jewellery shop had caught his eye when they stopped at the restaurant across the road. And she caught his eye in the reflection of the window.

Anne.

His breath caught in his throat. She was everything. There was nothing he could say to her beauty, her grace. Words cheapened everything that she was. She was his world. Unfortunately she was wed to a powerful man of means, and Aramis was just a bodyguard. He looked over the trinkets. A small gift, a ring, it would not be noticed. Her husband was inattentive, he didn’t see what he had. She was little more than a possession to him, he wouldn’t notice. Aramis couldn’t fathom such blindness, he was so in love he thought the whole world could see. Athos certainly had, and he warned Aramis off. He didn’t want Aramis to guard Anne today, but with Porthos and d’Artagnan away on another job he had nobody else.

So Aramis had followed Anne around as she ran errands. And in the bright sunlight of a crowded city they seemed more a couple than a woman and a man in her employ. Perhaps they had forgotten who they really were. He wouldn’t have let his guard down otherwise. He wouldn’t have left her and wandered across the street. He had a job to do. This was his job. But it was getting late, he would have to buy the ring before the shop closed. He would be quick.

Aramis gave Anne’s reflection one last look before going in. She was watching him. Delicate fingers wrapped around a wine glass. She must have known what he was doing, this wouldn’t be a surprise. Maybe he should have come back another day. He was just seized with a need to do this now. While they were still in the moment. While she was…

Two shadows marred the reflection and reached out. Anne shot to her feet. The glass dropped and smashed against the table. Aramis whipped around and everything seemed to slow down, a strange quiet fell. Their eyes met across the road. And suddenly nothing mattered more than getting to each other. Two men grabbed Anne’s arms, but she pulled forwards against them, her eyes locked on to Aramis. He stepped out into the road. Water shot up from a puddle he charged through. The drops seemed to take an eternity to fly around him. One arm slipped away from her captor and Anne reached out towards Aramis. Her fingers straining, desperate.

And he knew it was there. It almost seemed like it didn’t matter. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. The car. It went into his legs and crumpled around him. The windshield shattered and sprayed a rain of glass. The car bucked upwards, while Aramis was jarred sideways. He closed his eyes and stood firm. But he couldn’t bear not to see her, not even for a moment. Shards of glass flew around him, and he looked to her again. The car fell back, forgotten. She slipped free and moved forwards. Both untouched. They reached out amongst sparkling glass. Their hands met, and they came together. Their eyes closed and lips…

Aramis came to with a harsh gasp. A darkened room and the steady beeping told him he was in a hospital. He lay there letting the numbness of grief and medication wash over him. He was alone. Beyond his room was the muffled noise of a nurse going about her rounds, but here there was nothing. Aramis closed his eyes against a tear. It still fell. He clumsily wiped at his face, not taking too much care over the drip in the back of his hand. His eyes cast about the room, but he took none of it in. He just wanted to go back to the place where he had been. The place where they had met in the middle of the road. Aramis wanted to return to the moment he had been snatched away from. His eyes closed and he willed himself back. But there was no gentle touch. There was no meeting of hands. He couldn’t go back there. It was lost to him. Something else took its place.

“Anne!” He screamed her name and shot into the road, adrenaline overriding all sense.

Two men held her back by the arms. She cried out for him. And then a knife drew towards Anne’s throat. The fear in her eyes, he couldn’t bear it. Aramis had to get to her.

And he knew it was there. It almost seemed like it didn’t matter. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. The car. It went into his legs and he crashed up over the hood. The windshield shattered under the impact of his body. Pain exploded all through Aramis. As the car came to a screeching halt he rolled back down and hit the road. His cheek grazed the tarmac, but his only thought was for her. His eyes threatened to close against the encroaching darkness, they still sought her out.

“Aramis!” Anne screamed.

And he found her, just in time to see the knife come down.

She was...

She was gone.

And he lay alone, broken, in a hospital bed.

His legs were a mess, he knew that much. The rest of him ached fiercely from the impact. He didn’t care if he never walked again though. She was _gone_. There was nothing left to him apart from the fragmented memories of stolen moments.

Aramis’ mind searched through them. Between the concussion and the drugs it wasn’t that easy, but one shining moment came through - The day they first met. It was a job like any other. Athos and Aramis went along to speak with a new client. “The King” he was known amongst the people. He was a powerful man with a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, and not all of them legitimate. Still, he had the money and they were in desperate need of it. Louis entered the room with his wife on his arm. They sat down and Aramis was instantly enraptured. She looked to Athos, concentrating on what he was saying, but then her eyes flicked to Aramis. A polite gesture, but then she seemed to look at him, really _look_. And they were lost. The world outside ceased to exist. Time slowed. Conversation flowed on around them, distant and inconsequential. They were the only two people in the room, in the _world_. The longing, the need to be there right next to her, it was overwhelming. He wanted to reach out to her, but he kept his hands neatly folded in his lap.

The meeting ended. Athos and Louis got to their feet. Aramis and Anne followed suit. The moment shattered. But hands were being shaken, and finally he could touch her. Palm to palm, it was all they were allowed. He would give anything for more. But they broke apart. Athos took his arm and propelled him to the door, Louis offered an arm to Anne. Their eyes lingered over their shoulder as they were torn asunder. The door closed. Aramis could breathe again.

“No.” Had been Athos’ first word when they got back to the car.

“What?”

“ _What?_ ” Athos mocked. “Don’t take me for a fool. I know you’ve got your eye on her and I’m putting my foot down before you even start.”

“We’ve only just met!”

“I can tell! You think I could work with you all these years and remain blind to your _way_ of falling for women left, right and centre.”

“This is different.”

“As you’ve said - you’ve only just met. How can you tell? God, don’t answer that. Whatever this is, whatever _that_ was in there. It stops. I’m drawing a line.”

“As you wish.”

But he was powerless against it. For she was ensnared as he was. This thing between them burnt brightly and if it wasn’t acted on it would consume them both. But she was still a married woman and he was a bodyguard in her husband’s employ. If they lived different lives, if they were different people, maybe they could have been something.

And ifs were also consuming Aramis. If he hadn’t left her to look at the rings, if he hadn’t run in front of the car, if he had reached her in time… Maybe she would be here.

The longer he lay there the more his thoughts tortured him.

If he hadn’t fallen for her. If he had stayed away.

Maybe his love had killed her.

He stared blankly at the ceiling as nurses flitted in around him. They made adjustments. They spoke. But he wouldn’t respond. The doctor came in to talk to him. Aramis heard the words, he just couldn’t take them in.

“There’ll be more surgery, and extensive physiotherapy. You’ll need to learn to walk again at the very least, but I’m hopeful you will walk again. Only time will tell I’m afraid.”

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

“Oh, I’ll check on you later, you’ve got a visitor.”

Still he stared at the ceiling through blurred eyes. He didn’t want to see anybody.

There was the squeak of a wheelchair and then a soft voice.

“Aramis?”

A gentle touch met his hand, and finally he canted his head to one side.

He wondered if it was his mind doing this. Was he twisting reality to make everything alright again? Just as he stood firm while a car crumpled around his body. Was this the impossible?

She squeezed his hand and met his eyes with a look that pulled at his very being.

“I’m here.”


	2. Bloody Hands

He was used to it by now.

The first time he was on some battlefield, trying to stem the blood from his friend’s wound. He couldn’t hold it all in. It wouldn’t stop. He stared at his hands for what seemed like hours afterwards.

Then of course there was _that place_. A forest in the snow. Red against white. He did what he could as the last few alive expired around him. When they were gone he plunged his hands into the snow and screamed. He needed to be clean. He was never clean. He would never be clean again.

And the friends whose flesh he sewed. His frantic hands worked, slick, red, fingers doing their best to hold on to a needle that meant the difference between life and death. Now he knew what to do. Now he had watched and read, he wouldn’t let another bleed out while he pressed useless hands against a gaping wound. He had saved them time and again, Porthos more than most. His hands had saved them.

He was used to seeing bloody hands.

But not this.

He looked down at his side. At the hands he clasped tight against his own flesh.

Not this.


	3. Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually like to post things until they're finished. Actually, I had no intention of finishing these prompts in the first place. Just a few that caught my interest... just a few. 
> 
> 60 pages. I have written 60 fecking pages worth of material and it's still not nearly done. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!
> 
> So, I'm going to have to start getting some of these things posted.
> 
> Meanwhile the WIP mountain looms menacingly from the corner. Halp.
> 
> And I should probably mention we're in a modern AU for this one...

“Just close your eyes.”

Porthos’ gentle voice drifted across the room.

“Close them. That’s it… that’s-”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before they shot wide open again.

“Give it another try. Go on.”

He couldn’t.

“You nearly had it then.”

He _couldn’t_ close his eyes.

“Have you tried counting sheep?”

“Bodies…” His cracked voice was barely audible.

“Hm?”

“Counting bodies… like sheep.”

Porthos came closer. The side of his bed dipped.

“There are no bodies, Aramis.”

But there were.

Every time he closed his eyes. Bodies. Strewn about like dolls cast aside and forgotten.

“I don’t want to see them.”

“There are no bodies.” Porthos repeated, his voice firmer, surer. “Please, just close your eyes and try. I’ll count the sheep with you if you like.”

Aramis let his eyelids drop. They did feel heavy, and Porthos was awfully insistent.

He felt Porthos take his hand. “Let’s make a start. One… two…”

A slight knock at the door and his eyes flew open. Porthos muttered a curse under his breath before going to answer.

The voices at the door were quiet, but Aramis still caught some of the words.

“You’ve had long enough.”

“Please, just a little longer, I was getting somewhere.”

“You said that yesterday, and the day before.” A heavy sigh. “This is for his own good. You know it is.”

“You didn’t see him after… last time…he…”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this - Porthos, you can move aside, or you can step outside. I have men here who will help with the latter.”

“Alright, alright.” Porthos backed off.

And then there was a new presence at his side. Aramis couldn’t see who it was or what he was doing. The room was mostly in darkness with just a single lamp in deference to his aching head.

Porthos appeared on the other side of his bed.

“Please, don’t do this.”

A strange sensation flooded through him. His muscles relaxed and his eyes closed against his will. He felt like he was being dragged down away from the world. Aramis reached out and scrabbled against it, but his fingers didn’t so much as twitch. He felt Porthos take his hand, and then he felt nothing.

He opened his eyes on powdered ground.

And after he screamed he began to count.


	4. “No, stop!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of lighthearted relief amid the angst. This one is set early on in the Inseparables relationship.

“No, stop!”

Aramis blinked his eyes and groaned. His head ached, and his arm was _unbearable_. Athos had been tugging at it, and the limb in question was not currently attached to the rest of his body.

“Aramis?”

“Wha… what happened?”

“You fell down some stairs.”

Well, that would do it.

“We were chasing a thief, do you remember?”

That part was a little fuzzy…

“Did we get him?”

“We are still in pursuit, as far as I know. Porthos went after him while I stopped to pick you up.”

Aramis instantly made a move to get up. A move that was just as quickly aborted with an agonised yell.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“We have to get after them! Porthos could be in danger!”

“You’re in no state to go anywhere! In fact, you’re a little more damaged than we realised…” Athos’ worried eyes fell on his arm. “Besides, the thief looks like a waif from the depths of the court. Porthos is easily twice his size.”

“Then how did he get the better of me?”

“I’m afraid you got the better of yourself. It was nothing more treacherous than a misstep.”

“Oh…”

If he was wasn’t overwhelmed with pain Aramis would probably have felt the blush of embarrassment colour his cheeks.

“That arm needs seeing to.” Athos made a move for the limb.

“No!” Aramis would have whipped it out of reach if he had been able. “I’ve just woken to you pulling at my arm like a rope attached to a horse that’s dug its heels in. Have you ever set a shoulder before?”

“I’ve… er… I’ve seen it done.”

“Then it can wait till we get back to the garrison.” Aramis held his other hand out for Athos to help him up.

Athos eyed it warily. “It is a fair walk to the garrison. Would you at least let me have a go?”

“ _‘Have a go’_? Athos, you’re not playing a game of quoits at the fair. You’re putting my shoulder back in, and I would rather it was done properly.”

“It’s going to take a while for us to get back, and who knows how long to summon a physician. You’re in pain, you don’t have to be.”

“I’m likely to be in a lot more pain if I let you go at it.”

“It would be useful for me to learn. Then I’ll be ready for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time if I can help it.” Aramis swallowed against a wave of nausea. God, it hurt. “Alright, come here.”

Aramis shuffled himself into position and showed Athos where to hold his arm. “Brace your foot against my side. Pull firmly in that direction, steady, and hard. Don’t let up. Not even if I scream. And Athos…”

“Yes?”

“This time, if I tell you to stop, ignore me.”

Athos took a hold of Aramis and gave him a questioning look. “Ready?”

“Do it.”

The pulling began and the pain ratcheted up to obscene levels. It scorched down Aramis’ arm, through his chest. Every part of him felt on fire.

Aramis cried out.

“No, stop! Athos! Please!”

But Athos paid no attention to his yelling or begging. Not until Aramis’ shoulder popped neatly back into place. Athos let go and fell back, while Aramis went limp and gasped for breath as if he’d run several laps around Paris.

The all consuming pain was now a dull throb. When Aramis’ breath had calmed a little he turned to face Athos.

“Th… thank you.”

Athos looked a little pale and shocked. “Yes, please make sure there isn’t a next time.”

Aramis huffed a slight laugh and held out his good arm.

“I’ll just avoid stairs for a good while.” Aramis winced as Athos pulled him to his feet. “Please inform Treville I’ll regretfully be unable to attend his office. Far too many steps you see.”

“I get the feeling he’s regretting putting us three together.”

“Nonsense.” Aramis fumbled with his doublet as he tried to tuck his arm inside for support. “It isn’t our fault we er… we…”

“Attract trouble?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be my choice of words.”

Athos stepped forward to help after watching Aramis struggle. “He wasn’t pleased with the horse situation I got into. And then there was the incident with the cat. Porthos couldn’t walk for weeks afterwards.”

“Very well, I’ll stay away from stairs. You stay away from horses with a fear of small dogs, and we’ll both keep Porthos away from overly affectionate cats.”

“That might be easier said than done.”

“We can but try! Now, let’s get going to the nearest tavern.”

“What about your arm?”

“It’s fine, it only needs to be put in a sling. I also require a medicinal drink. Judging by your complexion you could do with one too.”

Athos gave him a pointed look. “And you’ll be the one buying.”


	5. Poisoned

There was an irritating stream of words boring into Athos’ head. It felt like they had been going on for hours. Rising and falling, quiet and pleading, then rushed and desperate. There weren’t any words that he could discern, it was just noise.  


His eyes were heavy, and his hands equally so. He would have reached out to bat at the voice if he could. Perhaps a solid cuff would cease the flow. But Athos felt half dead. He dredged through his thoughts to see if he could work out why, but there was nothing.

In his fruitless search for answers the noise had started forming into words. Prayer. Somebody was praying beside him. Athos managed to crack an eye open and found Aramis worrying at a rosary. His eyes were closed and a frown marred his features as he frantically whispered to every saint he knew.

Athos heaved a sigh and found his own rusted voice.  


“Save your breath... I'm not the kind you pray for.”

Aramis’ eyes shot open. He looked at Athos as if he had risen from the grave. The shock passed and confusion took its place.

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t deserve prayers. Not yours or anyone else’s.”

Athos coughed, his voice rough. Aramis helped him to a drink.

“Perhaps those who think they don’t deserve prayer are in need of it most.” Aramis was quiet a moment. His eyes seemed to contemplate the depths of the cup between his hands. “Why do you do it? Why do you poison yourself so?”

So that’s what had happened… A blurred memory of a bottle, and another, and another…

“Because I’m lost, Aramis. I’m lost and I don’t deserve your prayers or your concern. So kindly leave me be.” Athos didn’t know why the question stoked some irritation in his heart.

Aramis fixed his eyes on Athos then. “I thought you wouldn’t live to see morning. Do you know that you nearly stopped breathing?” His voice seemed to grow harder and colder with every word. “Is it a grave you want? You know the earth won’t give a damn if you’re lost.”

Athos looked away to the ceiling and tried to fend off the threat of tears. He didn’t want a grave. He just wanted to forget. Each drink blurred the lines of memory until she was gone, and he had never…

Aramis’ voice turned soft once more. “I’ve prayed over too many brothers who never woke again. Don’t make me pray over one more. And I will keep praying for you Athos. The lost can always be found.”

“What if they don’t want to be?” He still couldn’t look at Aramis.   


“Sometimes they don’t have a choice in the matter. I happen to know Porthos is very determined when it comes to finding things he has lost.”

The hint of humour drew Athos’ eyes back down from the ceiling. He wanted to say something. The words just wouldn’t come. A smile was beyond him at the best of times. He just hoped he managed to convey a warm sort of understanding through his eyes alone.

“Now I’d better get to morning muster. I’ll tell Treville you’re not well. You stay where you are, I can only imagine how awful you’re feeling.”

With that Aramis donned his hat and made his exit. Athos watched the door long after he had gone. He wasn’t sure what he had done to gain such loyalty from the man, or from Porthos for that matter. He hadn’t set out to make friends, but they warmed to him nevertheless. Treville started regularly sending them out on missions together, and they did seem to make a good team. Maybe it was Savoy. Athos had heard what happened of course. His commission came quickly to bolster the depleted ranks after all. Perhaps Aramis was hoping to save one for the twenty he could not.  


Athos didn’t want to be saved.  


But some small part of him wondered if he should let Aramis try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Radical Face's "Holy Branches" for a couple of lines, and all the inspiration it provides through my fic.


	6. Betrayal

_get alone, get alone often_  
_and if you can’t sleep alone_  
_be careful of the words you speak in your sleep_

Aramis was hunched over with an arm tight across his chest when he stumbled into the garrison. He made a good effort at straightening himself as he carefully walked to the table, but it clearly cost him. Aramis near enough felt the blood drain from his face.

Porthos was playing a card game with d’Artagnan. He looked up to give a nod of acknowledgement, and then narrowed his eyes.

“What the hell happened to you?”

d’Artagnan twisted around to rake his own eyes over Aramis. “It’s usually Athos who turns up in that sort of a state.”

Aramis managed a wan smile. “Nothing to concern yourselves with. And speaking of Athos, where is he?”

“I think you should lie down, you don’t look at all well.” Porthos put his cards down and made to get up.

“No need.” Aramis swiftly raised a palm. “Athos?”

“Won’t you let me help you?” There was something in Porthos’ voice that sounded hurt.

“Aramis, you look like a strong breeze would blow you over.” d’Artagnan helpfully added.

“Don’t worry about me, just carry on with your game.” The hand across his chest turned into a tight fist. “Now, Athos, _please_.” The tone of his voice brooked no argument.

“Check the stables, he’s just got in.”

Aramis could feel their eyes on him as he made his way to the stables. The moment he was out of sight he bent over and leaned against the nearest post.

“Athos?” He hissed between gritted teeth.

“Yes?” His voice came from a box further down. The clink of tack being removed could just be heard.

“I need you.”

“What for?”

“Please, just come with me.”

At that Athos poked his head out and frowned. “Are you alright?”

“Come with me, and don’t let on to the others that anything’s amiss as we pass by.”

Athos shouted for the stable boy to finish brushing his horse down and then he followed Aramis, offering a subtle hand to the elbow when he wavered. The two crossed the yard as far away from the table and the sullen card game as they could.

Aramis led Athos back to his room. He stood in the middle, still with an arm clutched tight to his chest.

“Now will you tell me what this is about?”

Aramis seemed suddenly unsure. His fingers twitched towards the opening of his doublet, they shook, then turned to fists. His gaze dropped to the floor.

“Aramis, you wanted my help.” Athos took a step towards his friend. “Let me help.”

Athos reached out towards Aramis’ doublet. At first Aramis made as if to shy away, but then he seemed to give in and let Athos open it up.

“Who did this?” Athos’ voice turned hard as he revealed a shirt stained red beneath.

“It’s my fault.”

“Unless you stabbed yourself I can hardly see how that’s true.”

“It is.”

“Let me have a look. Get this off.”

Athos helped to remove Aramis’ doublet, but when he went to peel away the bloodied shirt Aramis seemed to hesitate and hold on to it.

“Aramis, I need to see the wound.”

He made no move to comply.

“Would you rather stand there and bleed to death?” Athos sighed. “What is the matter with you?”

“What you’re going to see… It’s… I can… I can explain…”

Athos reached forwards to pull up the shirt and found a crudely etched word seeping blood down Aramis’ front.

JUDAS

“What on earth…?” Athos put a hand to his mouth in disbelief. “I’m going to clean this up and you’re going to explain. Sit down.”

Aramis took a seat on his bed while Athos went about gathering a few supplies. While Aramis had said he could explain, it still wasn’t easy. He asked for Athos because he knew the man would be discrete. Plus he was aware of certain facts the others were not. Porthos would be full of rage, and d’Artagnan… well, he wasn’t known for being tight lipped. Still, it didn’t make this any easier.

How had this happened? He should have seen it coming...

_Earlier..._

“This is new…”

Aramis gave a sly smile as little Lottie tied his arms to the bed. But he was slightly confused. This wasn’t her usual style.

She went to work on his legs and gave a coy smile of her own. “Oh but this is all the rage amongst the girls you know.”

“You er… often talk about bondage in polite company?”

“Well, we sit there sewing and gossiping while you men are around. Then as soon as you’re out the door talk turns to bedroom tricks.”

“Maybe next time I’ll have to listen at the door.”

“I wouldn’t, your ears might start burning.”

Little Lottie came to straddle Aramis. She gently teased her fingers down his chest. “Oh, but I’ve forgotten something!”

She leaped off the bed and went to rifle through Aramis’ discarded belongings until she came back with his dagger.

“Another bedroom trick…?” He was starting to get a little worried as she drew the point of the dagger delicately down the path her fingers had taken just a moment ago.

“Only for certain men.” Her smile turned dangerous.

“Would you mind loosening the ties a little? I fear I’m beginning to lose the feeling in my hands. And I’m going to need them before this night ends.” He tried to inject a little lasciviousness into his voice but it fell flat.

“Do you want to know what kind of men this is for?”

She dug the point in.

“Traitors.”

And she pulled.

Aramis bucked up against the unexpected pain, but she didn’t shift an inch. Little Lottie slashed at his flesh again, and suddenly she didn’t seem so little.

“Stop! What are you doing?!”

But she carried on, determined in her work.

“Lottie! For the love of God, why?!”

She stopped then. She stopped and glared at Aramis with such hatred. She bared her teeth as she spat an answer. “Anne. Beautiful Anne. With such golden hair and so many other virtues that no doubt make her a more welcoming lay than me!”

“What are you talking about?!”

“Oh Aramis, my dear, poor Aramis. You talk in your sleep. Did you not know? You told me all about your beloved whore. I feel I know her better than I know myself. While you lay between my sheets you whispered your love for another. How could you betray me?!”

She dug particularly deep with the next cut. Aramis couldn’t help but let out a yell.

“I haven’t! Honest to God and all the saints above, I have not seen her! And it was just the on-” The dagger sliced deep. “JUST THE ONCE! Before you!”

“LIAR!” She dug her nails in just as deep. “You would not speak so fondly of a fleeting dalliance! I know your heart! You traitor! You Judas!”

“Please, believe me Lottie. I can’t be with her. _I can’t_ …”

“Even if I believed you, does that mean you would be with her if you could? You are not making things better!”

“I want you!”

“Stop lying!” She struck him about the face. And then with a flourish she finished. “Let’s see what your whore makes of this.”

“Lottie, please…”

“Go back to her. I never want to see you again. When I return you had better be gone.”

“LOT-” She crashed the pommel into his head and everything went black.

Aramis wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he woke up. He was alone, and his bonds were cut. Gingerly he sat up and winced as he looked down at Lottie’s handiwork. JUDAS. The word was scored into his sore and weeping flesh. As Aramis took it in something inside him crumpled. He was caught between devastation and anger.

Aramis eased his way off the bed and retrieved his belongings. He delicately pulled his shirt on, and wrapped his doublet tight about him. He didn’t want anybody to see. The wounds stung fiercely. They might need stitches, and they would have to be cleaned up at the very least. But he didn’t want anybody to know. Beneath the devastation and anger was a rising tide of shame.

Porthos would be angry for the both of them. He would want revenge, he would be out for blood. Aramis didn’t want that. d’Artagnan wouldn’t keep this to himself… _If you don’t tell him, I will_ … He had learnt that much from Marsac’s return. Athos, it would have to be Athos. He was good with secrets, and he knew the truth of Anne.

So he slunk back to the garrison, an arm tight against his chest in an attempt to slow the blood flow and conceal it from view.

_Now..._

“And so you see, this is my fault. I brought this on myself. I betrayed myself…”

“A man can hardly be condemned for talking in his sleep. Just be thankful you did not say any more. You could have woken in a prison cell.”

Athos had finished cleaning and stitching. He helped Aramis to sit up and started on the bandages.

“She hated me for an affair that wasn’t an affair. But I still feel responsible, I still feel… shame. How can I explain it to her? How can I make things right?”

“My friend, I think it better to let this lie. She believes what she believes, and there is no way you can prove your innocence. Besides, she isn’t the first heart you’ve broken. Move on. Although I would suggest a little time alone would be most wise.”

“You know me, I’m not so good at being alone.”

“Just until this little sleep talking problem goes away. Don’t forget my neck is on the line as well. I’ll sleep beside you if I have to, just to ensure your silence.”

Aramis looked down and fingered the bandages thoughtfully.

Athos squeezed his bare shoulder. “With any luck they won’t scar.”

“Athos… thank you. And don’t tell the others.”

“My lips are sealed. I just hope yours are too.”

Aramis tried for a small smile. Perhaps some alone time was well overdue. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is by Charles Bukowski.


End file.
